


Insatiable

by a_sparrows_fall



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Geralt, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 00:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sparrows_fall/pseuds/a_sparrows_fall
Summary: “Hmmm,” Regis rumbles, kicking up his level of feigned disinterest threefold. “I think I perhaps require convincing.”Geralt laughs again, low. “Fine.”Unabashed smut featuring Geralt's storied sex toy collection.





	Insatiable

**Author's Note:**

> This story features Geralt as a trans man who is post-Trial of the Grasses, so approximately equivalent to being on T, and enjoys anal and vaginal penetration, in this case with Regis, a cis male vampire.
> 
> FYI for purposes of any squicks you may have (as I certainly do), I've avoided using feminine language / slang for body parts throughout, but [shoot me a message](https://asparrowsfall.tumblr.com/ask) if you have questions about this or any of my trans works (or ANY of my works!) <3

“Well, well.”

A cool rush coasts over Geralt’s body as Regis all but rips the coverlet off both the bed and the witcher in it.

Geralt just grunts and grins up at him, not bothering to stop tracing circles around his cock, trailing slick around the tip.

To his credit, Regis almost manages to retain some of his composure as his eyes flick down to Geralt’s crotch, the only betrayal of his faux disdain a flash of pearly cuspid, appearing in a fleeting smirk and then vanishing again.

“You appear to be busy.”

“You _took_ too damn long,” Geralt growls at him, fingers dipping lower, coming up wet and shiny.

The truth is he could have brought himself off at _least_ five times while waiting for Regis to get home. The fact that he’s only come once really shows a remarkable restraint on his part.

Which Regis—currently doing that animalistic, insanely attractive deep inhale vampires do, taking in as much information as possible through his nose—likely already knows. He probably has a little chart: _levels of arousal in witchers of alternative anatomy as evidenced by olfactory data_ , or something like that.

Geralt chuckles to himself. That… probably shouldn’t turn him on even more—thinking of Regis poring over his notebook, cock getting stiffer as he labels graph axes—but, well, he’s too fucking old and too much himself to pretend that it doesn’t.

“C’mon.” He hikes his knees up, spreading his legs wider. “I can catch you up.”

Regis looks on the point of accepting this offer—then stops altogether for a moment. He places his bag down next to the armchair on the far side of the room before sitting in it himself.

“Hmmm,” he rumbles, kicking up his level of feigned disinterest threefold. “I think I perhaps require convincing.”

Geralt laughs again, low. “Fine.”

Maybe another time he would have pushed back, tried to resist Regis’s resistance until one of them broke. Or perhaps gone directly to the vampire’s lap, a more direct method of persuasion.

But instead, he simply sits up and leans over the edge of the bed, reaching underneath it and sliding out the low, wide wooden trunk stored there, which Regis has fondly dubbed _the Other Weapons Chest_.

(Wintering at a proper house in Toussaint does have some distinct advantages over being a nomad, or even staying at the shared space of Kaer Morhen, as it turns out.)

Popping the latch and throwing back the lid, Geralt scans the objects inside first with his eyes, then with his fingertips, tracing over the collection thoughtfully.

Nestled in swirls of velvet and organized by type, it’s an impressive array that’s taken years to assemble, and he always gets a little charge when he sees it again; he’s sure there’s some corollary regarding his meticulous care of these particular tools and Vesemir’s incessant reminders about the upkeep of one’s sword, but he’s already resigned himself to the fact that he can never, ever mention it aloud, not if he wants to hear the end of it from Regis.

The materials sing under his fingertips—sleek stone, highly polished wood, glistening steel—all lovely in their own way, but not what he’s seeking at the moment.

His eyes land on the glass toys, specifically the newest one: slightly curved in form, shaft swelling into pretty rounded beads down the bulk of its length, tapering into a comfortable handle at the end. Its make is completely translucent except for a few fine ribbons of bright red coiling through the center of it: an enticing combination of revealing and contrasting.

Yeah, that’ll look nice.

Not bothering to close the case, he sits back up, presenting his choice for Regis with a little smile of triumph.

The vampire’s eyes flash: even he can’t prevent himself from showing some enthusiasm.

“Oh, lovely,” he coos, voice suddenly breathy. “Well chosen.”

Geralt makes his way down the bed, snarking at Regis as he goes. “Glad you approve.”

“That decorative pattern at the center.” Regis squints, stroking his chin with the back of his knuckles. “In addition to being rather alluring, it’s actually quite similar to ones seen in magnified samples of— _oh_.”

Geralt—now reclining on his side, propped up on his elbow, his legs spread, toy positioned at his slit—almost has to laugh. Regis sounds so damn gleeful, every single time. It’s charming, of course, but it’s bordering on the ridiculous.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” he teases.

Regis settles himself, leaning on his hand, pupils expanding as he focuses on the join of Geralt’s legs.

“Is a van Rogh lessened in its splendor for having viewed it before? Is Lord Nyron’s poetry less compelling for having it memorized? I would argue it’s the opposite—”

“Oh, gods,” Geralt groans, barely preventing his eyes from rolling. “ _Please_ stop—”

“I will _not_. I—”

As ardently as Regis’s protests begin, they die only words later, melting into a mewling whine as Geralt presses the bulbous glass tip just barely inside him, wetting it.

He stops there momentarily, grinning, simply enjoying the twin delights of the cool, smooth head of the toy inside him, and Regis staring at him, slack-jawed and silent, before he finally pulls it back out, elegantly twisting his wrist and, in one smooth motion, sliding it through his lips and up along the bottom of his cock, each beaded sphere stroking him as it glides past.

_Fuck._

It takes him a second to pry his eyes back open and recover from the sensation before he can taunt Regis again. “Convincing?”

Regis is riveted, his hand not quite covering a growing bulge in his breeches. “ _Very_.”

“Good,” Geralt says, and flicks his master swordsman’s wrist again, this time slipping the toy all the way inside him. He involuntarily tightens around it, hissing as he slowly draws it back out.

 _Gods_ , it’s good, just taking his time, slowly fucking himself like this. It’s not _just_ to drive Regis out of his mind, although that was the initial impetus.

But he’s drifting completely into the feel of it now, eyes closing as he alternates between working his hole—feeling every curve of the glass stroking him inside—and rubbing it against his cock.

He reaches down to take himself in his fingers, to stroke and fuck himself at once, when a low, guttering moan draws his focus.

Regis is leaning heavy on one arm of the chair, rapt, panting, trousers undone, cock in hand: in a word, he looks desperate.

“ _Geralt_ ,” he moans, pulling at himself weakly, clearly trying to hold off, to keep from coming all over himself.

Geralt could tell him to stay put, make him suffer a little longer for his defiance.

But, well… he’s feeling charitable at the moment. Or maybe devious. He’s not sure there’s a whole lot of difference between the two.

“Get the fuck over here,” he snarls through a half smile.

The vampire wastes no time at all, misting across the room and standing naked before him in an instant, cock bobbing in front of his face.

“Give me that.” He roughly takes Regis in his hand, drawing a gasp from him. Locking eyes with him, Geralt’s face goes hard: he’s a threat in human form. “Don’t you _dare_ fucking come in my mouth. Not done with you yet.”

And before Regis can offer reassurances or even dissent, Geralt downs Regis’s cock, sucking on it with a moan, hands falling back to his own cock and the toy, fucking himself in earnest.

Regis is fucking _whimpering_ , clawed hands fisting hard into Geralt’s hair. Geralt can feel him trying not to thrust— _good_ , he smirks—and Geralt takes him deeper, thrusts the toy harder, and rubs himself faster, until he can’t differentiate any of it: he’s a single wet, hot, clenching point of feeling, filled to bursting, and he comes, brain going black, crying out as he releases Regis from his mouth.

He rolls to his back, panting for long moments before he drags his gaze up to see how Regis is faring.

Obedient to Geralt’s demand and looking a bit worse for it, he leans with one hand on the mattress, gasping.

“Bloody fucking _gods_ , Geralt,” he curses, his typical decorum abandoned for once. “Please—please let me—”

His hand hovers at his still achingly hard length, his face begging every bit as much as his words, while Geralt is already crawling up the mattress.

“Up here. Now.”

From his place on all fours near the headboard, Geralt leans down beside the bed, reaching back into the toy chest and immediately plucking out two items: a vial of oil, and another phallic toy, softer and bigger than the previous one, widening tantalizingly at the base.

An echo of memory drifts through Geralt’s addled brain: Regis explaining how the rare material was made from some cured tree sap compound imported from Barsa.

But he quickly dismisses it; it could be made from unicorn horn shavings as far as he’s concerned, as long as it feels the way it does inside him.

There’s a blunt pressure from behind from a different sort of phallus, nudging gently at his wet slit, and a ripple of pleasure zips up his spine as he hears Regis moan.

He sits back up immediately, giving Regis a little shove. “Cut it out.”

He’s turned his back again and is already dumping a generous helping of lube into his hand, so he doesn’t see Regis’s face fall, but hears the disappointment in his voice. “But I—”

“ _You’re_ the one who was fucking late,” Geralt snarls. “So we do this my way.” He squares up his back to the vampire’s chest, and, before his partner can make any other pitiable excuses, Geralt reaches back and slides his slickened hand up the crack of his own ass.

“Oh _gods_ ,” Regis gutters, realization dawning as Geralt lubes him up, too, hands working quickly, savagely, coating his shaft. He almost wishes Regis could see the grin on his face; he can picture the vampire's reaction anyway.

Regis’s low groan arcs up into a whine as Geralt lines him up with his asshole, and, with no further explanation or hesitation, sinks backward onto Regis’s cock, drawing him in in a few swift movements.

Heat and pressure race up the length of his body as Regis settles in him, and it’s all he can do not to bear down on him further. “Oh, _fuck_ yeah.”

Regis, for his part, still seems stunned, not yet moving in him, giving Geralt just enough time to retrieve the pliant toy he’d pulled from the box and shove it in his other hole.

He’s dripping, thighs absolutely soaked with his own wet, so as girthy as the thing is, it goes in easily. When it bottoms out, filling him utterly, it rocks him with a violent wave of pleasure.

It takes him a second to register Regis’s jagged cry behind him; Regis can feel the toy rubbing up against _him_ , too.

Hot breaths and sharp teeth scrape Geralt’s neck. “You… are... insatiable,” Regis tells him, voice shaking on every word.

“Yeah,” Geralt grins. “And you love it.” He jams the toy harder inside himself, making them both moan. “Now, fuck me already.”

Regis starts slow, his stuttering hips matching his stuttering breath, and Geralt has to laugh a little; he’s pretty sure that’s not for his benefit.

But the vampire finds his rhythm, fucking him steadily, claws sinking into Geralt’s chest, and Geralt follows his lead, pumping the toy inside himself in syncopation, starting to lose control, clenching around both it and Regis.

“Geralt—I—I can’t—”

In lieu of an answer with words, Geralt grabs Regis’s hand and drags it down, first to where the toy is sliding in and out of his hole, then to his cock, leaving Regis’s clever fingers to do the rest.

With what must be the last of his concentration, Regis strokes him perfectly, sending him over the edge; he comes on Regis’s cock, bearing down on him hard. The toy threatens to slip out of him, but he holds it in place as he spasms around it, and he feels Regis’s hips rock up one more time, driving into him as he, too, comes with a shout.

Regis stills at last, falling forward into Geralt’s back, and the witcher can’t help but collapse as well, the toy springing free from between his legs as he tumbles to the sheets next to the vampire, the two of them a conjoined, wet, delighted mess.

Regaining some small strength and breath, Regis slips out of him, relinquishing him only momentarily before grasping him from behind, closing his arms around Geralt’s chest and pressing kisses into his neck.

“That was… I don’t have the words.”

Geralt laughs under his breath. “That’s a first. You gonna get home quicker next time?”

“Mmm,” Regis hums aloud, the sound ragged. “If that’s my punishment for being dilatory, I don’t see why I would be in a hurry to learn my lesson.”

Geralt pulls Regis’s hand up to his mouth, softly kissing his knuckles. “Guess I’ll just keep trying to teach you.”


End file.
